THE ENTRAILS DEVOURED BY PUTRID WINDS

A miasma of corruption hangs heavy in the void, thick with the stench of death. The wind, a putrid serpent, violently around the mangled corpses, shredding flesh from bone. The skeletons gleam like pearls in the morbid light. A symphony of groans echoes through the valley, a chorus of suffering as the innards are devoured by the vortex of oblivion.